ere inclined to
hold back, but the plucky little fellow insisted, and it was agreed that
Bowser's secret should be learned by keeping him company to the spot
which he visited.

CHAPTER XXVI.

AN UNEXPECTED ATTACK.

The three boys had scarcely agreed to the proposition to follow the
hound, when Bowser, as if he understood their intention, rose from the
ground where he had been lying, close to the camp fire, looked sharply
out in the gloom of the surrounding woods, and then moved along the same
course he had taken several times before.

He did not trot, but walked with a deliberate gait, as if he felt the
importance of being the leader of such a party.

"It must be a wild animal," said Sam, in an undertone, "or Bowser
wouldn't act that way."

"It's the bear, of course; see that your guns are ready, and when you
fire be sure you don't miss," warned Herbert.

An idea suddenly occurred to Nick Ribsam.

"All wild animals are afraid of fire: let's each take a torch to keep
him off."

The others eagerly caught up a blazing brand and strode forward with
more confidence than ever.

Herbert Watrous, who was sensible that he had not made such an
exhibition before the others as he desired, placed himself at the head
of the little company.

He hardly would have done this, had he not been certain that the flaming
brands would act as a shield to keep away the wild animal, whatever its
nature.

Each lad found it a little awkward to carry his loaded and cocked rifle
in one hand and the flaming stick of wood in the other. It cannot be
said there was any special difficulty in the task itself, but if a
crisis came the boy would have to surrender one of his weapons.

The young hunters formed a picturesque group as they moved forward in
Indian file, each holding a burning torch above his head and swinging it
so as to keep the blaze going, while his gun was trailed in the other
hand.

The hound Bowser was at the head, Herbert Watrous next, Sam Harper
followed, and Nick Ribsam, who still limped slightly, brought up the
rear.

The hound showed an intelligence which would have been surprising but
for his action respecting the rattlesnake. He kept on a slow walk, so as
not to leave his friends, and now and then looked at them, as if to make
sure they were not trying to shrink from an important duty.

"Keep your torches going," called out Herbert, in a husky whisper, as he
swung his own so vigorously that a large piec